Is it demeaning to play fetch with a baby? Maybe. But Lucci doesn't seem to mind, so here Alistair is, sitting next to Mia on a garden bench because he'd invited himself to help babysit, tossing a rag doll into the grass a few feet away for him to toddle or crawl after, whichever suits him at any given moment.
Kids are weird. Alistair is weird, too, though, so that works out. Every time Lucci returns the doll he spends a moment thanking him before pretending, effusively, that he's lost control of his arms and can't help throwing it again.
"So, Mia," he says, after the fourth toss, Casually Conversational in a way that would probably have Morrigan already rolling her eyes in anticipation—"when are you going to make an honest elf out of him?"
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Kids are weird. Alistair is weird, too, though, so that works out. Every time Lucci returns the doll he spends a moment thanking him before pretending, effusively, that he's lost control of his arms and can't help throwing it again.
"So, Mia," he says, after the fourth toss, Casually Conversational in a way that would probably have Morrigan already rolling her eyes in anticipation—"when are you going to make an honest elf out of him?"
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